Photography

Lessons in life and art from Yoko Ono

Lessons in life and art from Yoko Ono

As the major retrospective Yoko Ono: Music of the Mind opens in London, we delve into the artist’s 7-decades of groundbreaking art to extract some invaluable wisdom

13February 2024

To neatly categorise Yoko Ono into a specific art movement would be a disservice to her life and artistic practice. The now 90-year-old artist’s breadth of work takes on several forms: she composed music and poetry, used her art and celebrity as a vehicle of protest, surrendered herself to the mercy of strangers in Cut Piece, self-published a book of instruction paintings, and irrevocably altered conceptual art in the 1960s. This impressive and varied oeuvre even prompted the art critic Jonathan Jones to proclaim, “Is there any contemporary art style that Yoko Ono did not pioneer?” 

Despite this, Ono’s artistic contributions in the 20th century were eclipsed by her relationship with John Lennon and for allegedly “breaking up the Beatles”. An unfortunate accusation that is somehow still a matter of contention decades later. However, over the last two decades, art institutions, such as San Francisco’s Museum of Modern Art in 2002 and the Serpentine Gallery in 2012, have carefully recontextualised her work, detached from the Lennon of it all. Focusing instead on how her art engaged with ideas of liberation, the horror of war and violence against women through its avant-garde aesthetic. This approach to her work underpins the upcoming retrospective of her artistic practice at the Tate Modern in London titled Yoko Ono: Music of the Mind.

The exhibition attempts to cover Yoko Ono’s prolific seven-decade career, showcasing over 200 works spanning photography, instruction pieces, and music. “Yoko Ono’s work has this incredible ability to alter how we view the world, and its significance cannot be underestimated,” explains assistant curator Andrew de Brún in a conversation with Dazed. “One of the things that we really hope people take away from the show is Ono’s call for collectivity and sense of hopefulness despite turbulent times.”

To celebrate the opening of this momentous exhibition of Ono’s art, we look back at some defining moments of her life and work. 

A simple command, such as “Light a match and watch it go out” in Lighting Piece (1955), constituted much of Yoko Ono’s earliest works. The young artist became part of Fluxus, an art movement that sought to disrupt the notion of fine arts – specifically by challenging the relationship between art and spectator. These event scores, later termed ‘instruction paintings’, were developed following her move from Japan to New York in 1953 to study at Sarah Lawrence and invited the audience to engage in acts of imagination and participation.

Ono’s self-published art book Grapefruit (1964) – often described as the pillar of conceptual art in the 1960s – was made up of these simple instructions and laid the foundation for much of her work during the time. With instructions such as, “Leave a piece of canvas or finished painting on the floor or in the street” in the score Painting to Be Stepped On (1960) or “Listen to the sound of the earth turning” in Earth Piece (1963), Ono’s audience was encouraged to interpret the pieces from their own perspective and ‘complete’ them in the present. 

In a performance piece that would become iconic, Ono invited the audience to participate in Cut Piece (1964). Seated motionless on stage, the audience was instructed to cut away pieces of her clothing and take them away with them. In the archival video documentation of the performance, the artist is seen submitting her body to strangers as they display varied levels of cruelty in how they cut the fragments of the garment of her body and, ultimately, become part of the artwork. While this is often seen as a work of feminist art, writing by art historians such as Julia Bryan-Wilson assert that the work applies more broadly to the impact of war on both men and women as the performer for Cut Piece is not bound by gender. Through this act, she probes the audience to explore themes of power and agency through the intersection between her own physical body and the aftereffects of violence.

By the mid-1960s, Ono developed a keen interest in filmmaking. This saw her produce genre-defining avant-garde short films, specifically through her use of the singular shot to disrupt antiquated ideas of sexuality and the female body. In Ono’s 1966 film Bottoms, these bodies become landscapes, and the human form dissolves into abstraction. The picture, which is entirely black and white, features a number of nude bottoms in the form of close-up shots set against a harsh background. It was censored heavily in London and confiscated by customs upon being brought to America. With a soundtrack that consists of interviews of the people whose rears are on screen and their thoughts on the project, Ono begins to unravel what public perceptions of the project and Bottoms could entail.

In other films such as Freedom (1970), where the artist films herself for a minute trying to take her bra off, and Fly (1970) – based on the instruction ‘Let a fly walk on a woman’s body from toe to head and fly out of the window’ – Ono continues to capture the unvarnished, unadulterated reality through her unrelenting repetition. Her films ask spectators to face their own uneasiness and reconsider ideas of vulnerability, intimacy, freedom and beauty. 

First displayed in 1967 at the Lisson Gallery in London, Ono’s enigmatic installation Half a Room (1967) confronts the viewer with absence rather than presence, with the void left by what is missing rather than the solidity of what remains.  Prompted by a day in the 1960s, when Ono’s boyfriend Anthony Cox had disappeared from their flat in London, she spliced a room cleanly in two to depict the absence of her ‘other half’. The work – a physical representation of the room with every object from the chairs to the teapot sliced in half – offers a disorienting glimpse into the fragmented nature of existence and the human condition. Through this spatial disruption and rendering the material objects on display ‘useless’ through its halving, Ono aptly captures the existential and turbulent unease of heartbreak. Like much of her work, Half a Room is a meditation on human connection and belonging. 

In Yoko Ono’s two-week-long Bed-In for Peace (1969) in Montreal and then Amsterdam, the mundane becomes a platform for radical expression, and a bed is transformed into a site of protest and defiance. Foregrounded by Ono’s turbulent childhood – due to American Intervention in Japan in World War II and a desire to challenge the onslaught of violence caused by the American War in Vietnam – Ono and John Lennon retreated to the sanctuary of their hotel room and invited the press into their honeymoon suite to answer questions about the war and documented their interactions for the film Bed Peace, which was uploaded on Youtube in 2012 with the message: “WAR IS OVER If We Want It. It’s up to us and nobody else.” Here, she uses their shared vulnerability and the power of their celebrity as one of the most famous couples in the world as a tool for social change.

While this act of resistance may not have led to material changes, it remains both deeply personal and profoundly political, a testament to the power of intimacy and solidarity in the face of injustice. Through this non-violent demonstration, Ono invites us to reconsider the boundaries of activism and the potential for transformative action in even the most unexpected of spaces. 

Ono’s artworks, particularly her later pieces, are imbued with a profound desire for global peace. This sentiment is evident in works like “Helmets (Pieces of Sky)” from 2001, which repurposes helmets from the Second World War adorned with blue puzzle images of the sky. Accompanied by instructions urging viewers to “Take a piece of sky” and to “Know that we are all part of each other”, Ono’s artwork serves as a poignant reminder of the universality of human emotions and how we are all connected as one.

In another project, “Add Color (Refugee Boat)” – conceived in 2016 in response to the crisis of mass displacement – Ono invites visitors to scribble, paint and draw on a white rowing boat and the stage that surrounds it. Ultimately, Ono’s broader artistic practice fosters a sense of coming together, but more importantly, it serves as an effective reminder of the ongoing catastrophic displacement of people from their homelands due to imperial intervention by America and Britain. 

Yoko Ono: Music Of The Mind is running at Tate Modern from February 15 until September 1, 2024. 

Lunar New Year traditions through the lens of three photographers

Lunar New Year traditions through the lens of three photographers

Lunar New Year traditions through the lens of three photographers

Friends gathered around dinner table enjoying Chinese New Year meal

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Caroline’s group of friends laugh while eating a Chinese New Year dinner together.

Caroline Xia


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  • We asked three photographers to document their Lunar New Year celebrations.
  • Celebrations typically include traditions to bring prosperity and fortune into the new year.
  • Three different Lunar New Year celebrations showcase the importance of cultural heritage and community.
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Lunar New Year, also known as Spring Festival or Chinese New Year, is celebrated in East Asian countries, including China, South Korea, and Vietnam.

Beginning with the first new moon of the lunar calendar and ending on the full moon, celebrations typically consist of traditions to bring prosperity and fortune into the new year with loved ones.

We asked three photographers to document how they celebrate the holiday with loved ones, from gathering for dinner with traditional Chinese dishes, adorning their home with decorations, and paying respects to ancestors and late relatives.

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Caroline Xia

Xia is a photographer and filmmaker born and raised in Queens, New York. Their work focuses on amplifying stories about East Asian Americans and children of immigrants in vibrant ways. Xia documented their Lunar New Year’s dinner that they hosted with their sibling and a few close friends.

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Oil sizzling over a whole fish

Leslie pours seasoned hot oil over a whole steamed fish.

Caroline Xia



They have a tradition of hanging decorations around their front door to bring good wishes for the new year. They also cooked traditional Lunar New Year dishes, including whole steamed fish with hot seasoned oil on top, roast duck, fried noodles, fried pork dumplings, yu-choy, and tomato and egg.

“The recipes all come from my grandma,” Xia said. “We watched my grandma cook for us growing up and tried to absorb as much as we could. We will still call her while cooking to ask her questions about her recipes and techniques.”

“The fish is the most important part for us because my grandma includes this for every Chinese New Year dinner; it feels like the centerpiece of the meal,” they added. “The point is that the fish must be a whole fish to symbolize abundance.”

Decorations being hung up over the front door for Lunar New Year

Leslie hangs up a Chinese New Year door couplet sign on the side of their front doorway.

Caroline Xia



Ramona Jingru Wang

Wang is a contemporary photographer based in New York City. Her work explores how images intervene with our reality and create connections among people and space, investigating how we care for each other through photography.

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Wang will be celebrating the Lunar New Year with her friends.

“We are going to make a coconut chicken broth hotpot at home, and we are also going to a karaoke bar to sing Chinese songs,” she said. “My family and I always love to have hotpot on holidays because it is simple to cook for a big group of people, and everyone gets to pick what they want to eat.”

“The coconut chicken broth hotpot that we had this year originates from Hainan, southern China, where it is famous for their seashores and mountain chickens,” Wang continued. “I grew up in southern China, so it was a very common option for hotpot when I was a kid.”

Hot pot being served in a bowl with assorted ingredients

Hainan Coconut Broth Hotpot being served in a bowl.

Ramona Jingru Wang



Wang said Lunar New Year is important to her because it allows her to connect with family and friends through a shared cultural experience.

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“Celebrating Lunar New Year allows me to connect with my family and friends, and usually it is a time of nostalgia and remembrance of both of our personal and collective past growing up in our shared culture,” Wang said. “The celebration and sharing of my culture with my community makes me feel grounded and that I belong to something that’s larger than myself alone.”

Lunar New Year card being signed

A Lunar New Year greeting card drawn by Meiting.

Ramona Jingru Wang



Her favorite tradition is to watch the live broadcast of the Spring Festival Celebration Gala on TV on New Year’s Eve.

“It’s a television performance program that every Chinese family watches at the same time,” she said. “Even though the performances usually cringe, I thought it’s a very strange and beautiful feeling to experience with a billion people all together in one night.”

People sitting on the floor in front of the TV while eating hot pot

Friends enjoying hotpot while watching the popular Taiwanese TV Show, “Kangsi Coming.”

Ramona Jingru Wang



Sam Lee

Lee is a Chinese American documentary photographer in New York City. Through photography and writing, she explores religious expressions, their intersection with politics, and topics of human rights, social justice, and heritage.

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Lee documented her time at the home of her uncle, Szuning Lee, in Chinatown for the Lunar New Year. She described her connection to Chinatown, where her father and uncle were raised and her grandmother owned a fabric store on Mulberry Street.

“I think of my family’s roots here as a gift I hope to build upon, and I want to make my home here by creating my own community and finding a place in others,” she said.

Lee said her favorite part of the holiday is “bringing friends together and sharing in my culture is so special to me, even as I keep learning about it myself.”

“It’s a time when I feel so at home in New York,” she said. “These things also make me feel close to my Chinese grandmothers and make me think of the experiences and qualities we’ve shared.”

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Altar with parents photographs, decoration, and assorted foods

Szuning’s altar for his parents and Buddhist deities.

Sam Lee



Burning incense and laying out the altars is Szuning’s favorite tradition for the New Year.

“It always makes me feel like the process and act provided a pathway to my parents and ancestors. This is what my mother instilled in us,” he said.

He described how he set up his altar with fruits, pastries, a chicken, and roast pork to honor his parents and Buddhist deities.

“I will start off the day by lighting incense and offering prayers to my parents,” Szuning said. “I will ask them and the Buddhist deities for their protection, granting of good health, longevity, prosperity, luck, and happiness for my son, his mother, my brother- and sister-in-law, my three nieces, my sister-in-law’s family, cousins, and of course, my friends and loved ones.”

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Man praying in front of family altar in apartment

Sam Lee



“Perhaps it’s silly, but from the time I was a child, I would take the time to list everyone, one by one, who I thought of asking the Buddhas and now my parents to grant their protection over,” he added. “I was afraid if I missed someone that something bad would happen to them and that somehow I was responsible, so this was the one thing I made sure I did with care. I would add to the list throughout the day as I thought of someone else.”

Sam looking out the window and smiling in apartment

Szuning in his apartment in Chinatown.

Sam Lee



“We didn’t celebrate Christmas, so this was our Christmas,” Szuning said, recalling his childhood memories of Lunar New Year. “It was the one day we could be Chinese and not feel like we were on the outside.”

He added: “Most importantly, it was also the only day my brother and I got to skip school.”

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Impossible Studios Welcomes Photographer Jordan Probst to the Team

Impossible Studios Welcomes Photographer Jordan Probst to the Team

Impossible Studios, known for its eclectic mix of award-winning photographers and directors, is beyond excited to announce the newest addition to its family, Jordan Probst. With a knack for shots that pop off the page, Jordan’s eye for the extraordinary has brought him into the spotlight, collaborating with big names like White Claw, Heinz, Pillsbury and Jack Daniel’s, to name a few. 

Jordan’s journey from the world of classical theatre acting to the forefront of commercial photography has equipped him with a unique lens through which he views each project. It’s this blend of creative vision and industry insight that makes his work stand out. His approach isn’t just about capturing stunning visuals; it’s about weaving narratives that resonate. 

“We’re beyond thrilled to have Jordan join us,” said Marco D’Angelo, executive producer & partner at Impossible Studios. “His work speaks for itself, but it’s his energy and approach to storytelling through photography that make him the perfect fit for our close-knit team. Jordan’s addition represents exactly what we’re all about at Impossible – pushing creative boundaries and building a family of the best talent in the business.” 

Jordan has previously collaborated with the team at Impossible, and his official inclusion in the roster feels like a natural progression. “Working with Impossible Studios has always been a highlight for me. There’s a vibe here that’s hard to find elsewhere – it’s creative and it genuinely feels like family. I’m stoked to be on board officially and can’t wait to dive into more projects together,” said Jordan. 

Impossible Studios prides itself on being more than just a production house. It’s a place where each project is an opportunity to do something groundbreaking. Jordan Probst joining the roster is a testament to the studio’s commitment to bringing the best artists together under one roof. 

Check out Jordan’s work here

Are photographers traditionalists or pioneers?

Are photographers traditionalists or pioneers?

In the dynamic world of photography, there exists a fascinating dichotomy between traditionalists and pioneers. On one hand, some adhere to the time-tested techniques and conventions of the craft, cherishing its rich history and heritage. But on the other hand, there are the pioneers, pushing boundaries, embracing innovation, and reshaping the very definition of what photography can be.

But which side holds more sway in the ever-evolving landscape of visual artistry? And which side of the fence do you sit on?

Traditional styled B&W portrait — Andrea Gardiner

Embracing tradition: The art of preservation

Traditionalist photographers find solace in the tried-and-true methods of the past. They honor the legacy of iconic photographers like Ansel Adams and Henri Cartier-Bresson, whose masterpieces continue to inspire generations. For them, there is an inherent beauty in the meticulous process of film development, the soft click of a mechanical shutter, and the tangible feel of a printed photograph.

These photographers often specialize in genres like landscape, portrait or documentary photography, where the emphasis lies in capturing authentic moments with precision and clarity. They meticulously study composition, lighting, and framing, adhering to established principles that have withstood the test of time. To them, photography is not just a medium of expression but a sacred art form to be revered and preserved.

Rear curtain sync with dancer Alyson King

Forging new frontiers: The spirit of innovation

On the opposite end of the spectrum are the pioneers. They are fearless visionaries who thrive on pushing the boundaries of what is possible, like Brooke Shaden. Armed with cutting-edge technology and boundless creativity, they are constantly seeking new ways to challenge conventions and defy expectations. From experimental techniques to digital manipulation, their work knows no bounds, transcending traditional notions of photography.

These photographers often gravitate toward avant-garde genres such as conceptual, abstract, or surreal photography, where imagination reigns supreme. They harness the power of digital tools and software to manipulate reality. Creating fantastical worlds that blur the line between fiction and reality. For them, photography is not just a means of capturing reality but a tool for exploring the depths of human perception and emotion.

Traditional Burlesque with performer Skye Medusa

Finding harmony: Bridging the gap

While traditionalists and pioneers may seem opposed, the reality is far more nuanced. In today’s interconnected world, many photographers find themselves straddling the line between tradition and innovation. Drawing inspiration from both camps to create truly unique and compelling work.

For some, this means marrying the timeless elegance of black and white film with the versatility of digital editing techniques. For others, it involves blending traditional portraiture with immersive virtual reality experiences. The possibilities are endless, limited only by one’s imagination and willingness to embrace change.

In the end, perhaps the true essence of photography lies not in adhering to a single ideology. It can be in embracing the diversity of perspectives and approaches that make it such a vibrant and dynamic art form. Whether you find yourself drawn to the nostalgia of traditional techniques or the excitement of cutting-edge innovation. There is no denying the profound impact that photographers — both traditionalists and pioneers — have on shaping the visual landscape of our world.

Forget pancakes, Lauren Maccabee photographs Ashbourne’s annual Shrovetide football “free-for-all”

Forget pancakes, Lauren Maccabee photographs Ashbourne’s annual Shrovetide football “free-for-all”

Due to the hectic nature of the game, Lauren actually rarely saw the ball in play. But luckily, she was much more interested in photographing the bystanders, capturing a sense of the atmosphere and anticipation. During the match grinning (or slightly disgruntled) teenagers are shown with arrow face paint indicating their chosen team, older fans are seen leaning on their balconies taking advantage of their vantage point, and wider shots show a vast sea of heads, images you’d much rather expect from a festival headliner as opposed to a community sport. In one of Lauren’s favourite images, four young boys are immersed in the game; keen to get involved in the action, they’ve clambered up a tree, shouting passionately to their team about the whereabouts of the ball. She also managed to nestle her way into the pre-game ticketed lunch, where she spoke to locals, and got her only up-close look at the ball – “meticulously” hand-painted by locals – and heard the 1891 Shrovetide Anthem being sung.

For Lauren, it’s hard to put into words just how unifying the Shrovetide is, “it brings people together in a way which you can’t really fully understand unless you’ve been”, she says, with different generations mingling in a manner that’s rarely seen. On the one hand she encountered kids standing on walls making TikTok dances and shouting lyrics of the Shrovetide Anthem, and on the other there were “old timers” in their 80s and 90s reminiscing about the Shrovetide of their youth, all joined together by the eccentric event. So when you’re flipping your pancakes later tonight, take a moment to think about the sweaty players bustling a ball down the streets of a small northern town, with no real reason as to why.

These Spectacular Wildlife Images Won Big at a Top Photography Contest

These Spectacular Wildlife Images Won Big at a Top Photography Contest

A tender image of a young polar bear drifting off to sleep in a bed he carved out of an iceberg has won over the masses. The photograph, titled Ice Bed, won British amateur photographer Nima Sarikhani the People’s Choice Award for the Wildlife Photographer of the Year, a prize organized by London’s Natural History Museum.

To capture the image, Sarikhani spent three days searching for polar bears through a dense fog around Norway’s far-northern Svalbard archipelago. Finally encountering a young male bear just before midnight, he watched as it climbed the small iceberg, clawed away at the sea ice, then curled up into a serene slumber.

In a statement, Douglas Gurr, the museum’s director, described the image as a poignant reflection on habitat loss: “His thought-provoking image is a stark reminder of the integral bond between an animal and its habitat.”

The photograph was selected from a shortlist of 25 images, whittled down from 50,000 submissions. A record 75,000 voters participated in the 59th installment of the competition. The image, along with four other “highly commended” finalists, will be on view at the London museum through June 30.

Audun Rikardsen, Aurora Jellies. Photo: © Audun Rikardsen / Wildlife Photographer of the Year.

The other finalists include Norwegian photographer Audun Rikardsen, who captured Aurora Jellies, an ethereal image of the aurora borealis illuminating the night sky over the waters of a fjord, aglow with the bioluminescence of moon jellyfish.

Kenyan Photographer Mark Boyd captured two lionesses grooming one of their shared cubs together after an unsuccessful hunt. Lionesses raise each other’s cubs as their own. Shared Parenting evokes the bond of sisterhood as well as the universal love of motherhood.

Mark Boyd, Shared Parenting. Photo: © Mark Boyd, Wildlife Photographer of the Year.

Starling Murmuration by German/Romanian photographer Daniel Dencescu was shot in Rome, Italy. He followed the starlings across the city for days as they danced across the sky, creating enchanting organic shapes. In Israeli photographer Tzahi Finkelstein’s The Happy Turtle, a balkan pond turtle smiles as a northern banded groundling dragonfly pays it a visit in the swampy waters of Israel’s Jezreel Valley.

Tzahi Finkelstein, The Happy Turtle. Photo: © Tzahi Finkelstein / Wildlife Photographer of the Year.

Daniel Dencescu, Starling Murmuration. Photo: © Daniel Dencescu / Wildlife Photographer of the Year.

The prestigious Wildlife Photographer of the Year competition celebrates the nature-focused work of amateur or professional photographers. The 60th edition is currently being judged by an international panel, with its winners set to be announced in October 2024.

Wildlife Photographer of the Year” is on view at the Natural History Museum, Cromwell Road, South Kensington, London, through June 30.

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Winged motorbike and a rapping Korean octogenarian: photos of the day

Winged motorbike and a rapping Korean octogenarian: photos of the day
image

Sirens of Sewage, by Jason deCaires Taylor, which portrays a cold-water swimmer, a school child, kite surfer, a lifeboat volunteer and a local fisherman. The beach artwork celebrates local volunteers who are part of a national network driving public discourse and political action to safeguard water bodies and marine ecologies

Photographer Helga Paris, Who Captured Life in East Berlin, Dies at 85

Photographer Helga Paris, Who Captured Life in East Berlin, Dies at 85
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Photographer Helga Paris, who captured daily life in Soviet Union-occupied East Berlin, has died at the age of 85.

According to the DPA international, Paris’ daughter confirmed that the photographer had died on February 8 in her apartment in the German capital.

Paris is one of few East German women who was recognized for her photography at the time of Soviet Union occupation in the country.

Self-taught photographer Paris was born in 1938 in Goleniów, Poland, and grew up in Zossen, Berlin.

Paris grew up with a passion for photography — after being inspired by her two aunts who were enthusiastic photographers. She constantly took pictures from the 1940s through the 1960s.

Paris moved to Berlin’s Prenzlauer Berg neighborhood after marrying her husband Ronald Paris in 1966. She began seriously taking photographs a year later.

Her work focused on people and streetscapes, initially in Berlin where many of her subjects were neighbors and friends.

However, Paris is perhaps most famous for her photo series Women at Work.

In 1984, the German photographer spent several weeks at the state-owned Treff-Modelle clothing factory in Halle, East Berlin capturing over 1,500 photographs of female employees.

Paris’ black-and-white pictures for Women at Work captured the garment workers in the clothing factory and their “unforeseen beauty.”

According to The Brooklyn Rail, Paris often snapped the camera shutter before her sitters even realized — leaving little time for preparation, but brought an authenticity to each image.

Paris also never used flash in her photography, instead using natural light to establish focal points on each face.

‘I have always been drawn to the every day, the unspectacular,” Paris said of the portraits.

“But I didn’t photo­graph it clinically, aseptically; rather, I tried to reproduce it as realistically and as hauntingly as possible.”

Paris also traveled outside of Berlin, shooting in Transylvania and Georgia. Paris said that no matter where she was, she tried to photograph everything “like a foreign city in a foreign country.”

Her career as a freelance photographer survived German reunification in 1989 and Paris’ photographs gained a wider interest as a historical record of the GDR.

Paris was a member of Berlin’s Akademie der Künste arts academy since 1996. She has left her archive of almost 230,000 negatives and around 6,300 films to the art institution.

How a pair of Bay Area bobcats fueled one student’s passion for wildlife photography

How a pair of Bay Area bobcats fueled one student’s passion for wildlife photography

This I’m a Berkeleyan was written as a first-person narrative from an interview with fourth-year student Vishal Subramanyan.

I always tell people I’m a naturalist first and a photographer second. If I didn’t have a camera, I would still be going out and observing wildlife.

I’ve lived in the Bay Area my whole life. Growing up, both my parents were fond of nature in different ways. My mom really loved animals, and my dad was really into camping and hiking. But I also had my own passion for wildlife. My favorite thing to do in childhood was to watch David Attenborough documentaries, and I was particularly obsessed with bears. When I saw congregations of brown bears together fishing salmon in Alaska, I thought, “Wow, that’s something I want to see!”

When I was 13, my dad and I had the opportunity to visit Katmai National Park in Alaska, and we went to Brooks Falls to see the bears fishing salmon. I was using this little Casio pocket camera to photograph the bears, but it wasn’t getting me what I wanted. And then I just said, “Hey, dad, can I borrow your camera?” And he didn’t really get it back.

A brown bear standing on the edge of a small waterfall leans down to catch a jumping salmon in its mouth.
One of Subramanyan’s earliest photos, taken in the summer of 2015, shows a brown bear on the verge of snagging a leaping salmon at Brooks Falls in Alaska.
Vishal Subramanyan

When I got back from the Alaska trip, I thought I’d have to wait for some other trip to continue my photography. But I soon realized there was so much great wildlife here in the Bay Area, and that this was where I could really specialize and tell stories about animals.

One of the first things I did was start photographing foxes — gray foxes and red foxes — in Coyote Hills park, and I also had a phase where I got into owls.

A bobcat carrying a dead squirrel in its mouth
Notch the bobcat, named for the notch on her ear, carrying a squirrel to her kittens.
Vishal Subramanyan

Mid-2017 is when I first got into bobcats. I was out photographing owls in Sycamore Grove Park in Livermore, and a hiker said, “Oh, there’s a bobcat a down that way, it actually just killed a snake.” I spotted the bobcat along the row of a vineyard and got a photo where she was just a little speck in the frame. That was in April, and she was pregnant in that picture. So I returned in August, thinking that maybe she would have kittens around. I saw her cross the trail with a squirrel, and then, from a distance, I watched where she took that squirrel, and three little kittens came bounding out of a tree.

I named that first cat Notch because of a notch on her ear. She had kittens in the park every year, and over time, she grew to trust me. I ended up watching her over the course of four years until she disappeared. And that same year that I found Notch, I found Notch’s daughter, Blondie, who was also raising her with cats in the park.

After that, bobcats became an obsession of mine through high school and the early part of college. I would go every day after school, and I missed prom so I could go look for cats. I loved following these bobcat families, observing behaviors that I’d never seen before — and some that nobody had ever seen before. The bobcats felt almost human-like to me, in the sense that they all had their own individual personalities. I spent so much time with Notch that I truly felt like she was a friend.

A bobcat, flanked by two kittens, sits in the opening of a decayed concrete building.
Blondie the bobcat with two of her kittens. “Many of the times I found a bobcat, it was due to some signs nature was giving me, whether it was tracks on the ground or the alarm calls of ground and tree squirrels,” Subramanyan said.
Vishal Subramanyan

At the time, I felt a disconnect between my academic career and my photography. High school was just something I had do — and when I got it done, I would go to my bobcats. When it came time to decide which college I was going to go to, it was a toss-up between UC Berkeley and UCLA. And the reason I chose UC Berkeley is because I was heavily invested in the bobcats, and I knew if I went to UCLA, I wouldn’t be able to photograph them — and I wouldn’t be able to photograph anything because I wouldn’t have access to a vehicle. So I always say my college decision was primarily based on bobcats.

A great horned owl stands on a tree stump and gazes into the camera.
Subramanyan has photographed a variety of Bay Area wildlife, including great horned owls.
Vishal Subramanyan

My first year and a half at Berkeley was just like high school: I was doing my academics, getting the work done and then doing my photography. I started college in fall 2020, during the pandemic, so everything was online. On September 30th, 2020, I missed my class so I could go look for bobcats, and one of the photos I took of Blondie was later recognized by the London Natural History Museum Wildlife Photographer of the Year awards.

But a major shift happened for me when we started coming back on campus in fall 2021 and spring 2022. As I started connecting with all the amazing wildlife researchers at UC Berkeley, both in the environmental science department and in the biology department, I learned that there are so many people doing awesome research that I can help communicate through my photography. It helped me realize that I would like to pursue a career in environmental and wildlife storytelling, where I can take all this research and conservation that’s being done by academics or nonprofits and turn it into a presentable visual format that the public can understand and engage with. Realizing this helped me finally build a bridge between those two separate worlds.

A mountain lion stands in a clearing among scraggly trees as the sun rises behind him.
A juvenile mountain lion photographed by a camera trap at UC’s Hastings Natural History Reservation. “I’d been trying to photograph a mountain lion for six months without any success, and then one morning a mom and a kitten actually walked by the trap,” Subramanyan said. “The mom triggered the camera, but didn’t look at it, and then the kitten came down a minute later, stopped, and looked right at the camera just as the sun was rising.”
Vishal Subramanyan

I think my skills as a naturalist immensely grew when I started my journey into camera trapping, which was something I picked up in early 2022. I initially started trying to photograph mountain lions, and now I am also working with Alan Shabel in the Department of Integrative Biology to photograph mountain beavers at Point Reyes.

When I started camera trapping, I knew nothing about how or where mountain lions moved, so I would just put my camera in a random field hoping to get something — and it never worked. So I started learning that mountain lions like to move through topographic pinch points, like canyons and ridge tops, and I also learned that they are known to leave scrapes on the ground where they mark their territory.

A person checks a camera that is mounted in a dense, leafy area.
Subramanyan checks a camera trap.
Courtesy of Vishal Subramanyan

And then, as I started working for the Department of Integrative Biology, I learned how to identify mountain beaver holes and which holes are fresh, based on how loose the soil is on the outside or the presence of fresh clippings outside the burrow.

I think that what photography really can do, more than anything, is draw people in. Photos can often capture the beauty in nature in a way that words might not be able to, and I think photography paired with interesting writing can really communicate messages in an effective way.

My goal right now is to start expanding more into videography and filmmaking, with the eventual goal of being able to produce wildlife documentaries. In the future, I’d love to film and photograph tigers in Siberia and their interactions with brown bears, because I think it’s fascinating that the tigers actually hunt brown bears. I’d also love to do more photography in India. I have a lot of family there, and when I visited last winter — for the first time in seven years — I was excited to photograph a black leopard.

But for now, I’m happy to focus on local stories, where I feel I can really have an impact.

A black panther creeps through the forest at night.
A melanistic leopard — a type of black panther — photographed in the Western Ghats of India. “I’d love to tell stories about the Western Ghats, which have a a really unique natural history,” Subramanyan said.
Vishal Subramanyan

Subramanyan’s work photographing a rare badger at Point Reyes National Seashore was featured in National Geographic this week. His photos have also appeared in Bay Nature, the East Bay Times and the fall 2023 issue of Breakthroughs magazine, a publication of the UC Berkeley Rausser College of Natural Resources.

Finding Your Style Through Other Photographers

Finding Your Style Through Other Photographers

Exploring the art of creatively borrowing from other photographers is a nuanced skill that can significantly impact an artist’s work and growth. Recognizing and adapting the influences of others into one’s own photographic style not only broadens creative horizons but also deepens personal expression.

Coming to you from The Photographic Eye, this enlightening video takes a deep dive into the concept of “the art of thievery” in photography, as host Alex Kilbee shares his journey of incorporating elements from admired photographers into his own work. The discussion begins with an homage to Bob Carlos Clarke, highlighting the transformative influence of Clarke’s high-contrast, stylized imagery on the Kilbee’s approach to photography. This segment of the video underscores the importance of acknowledging inspirations while striving to infuse personal interpretations and nuances into one’s own work, illustrating how emulation can serve as a stepping stone to individuality.

The narrative then shifts to the impact of other photographers like Paul Strand and Obie Oberholzer on Kilbee’s creative process. Kilbee details how Oberholzer’s bold use of artificial light and adventurous approach to photography encouraged a more playful and experimental attitude towards his projects. Meanwhile, the exploration of Paul Strand’s work offers a different perspective, with his evocative landscapes and straightforward compositions inspiring a sense of place and atmosphere. These reflections offer valuable insights into how diverse influences can coalesce into a unique photographic voice, emphasizing the significance of being open to various styles and techniques. Check out the video above for the full rundown from Kilbee.